Chapter 11

  New clock unwelcomed guest

  I step inside, the smell of oil and sawdust wrapping around me like a familiar coat. Gerrick moves straight to the small forge in the corner, stacking kindling with practiced speed. A spark from the flint, and soon the low orange glow swells into a steady flame, chasing the shop’s corners out of shadow.

  The light flickers across the brass sheets, hardwood planks, and neatly wrapped gong blank laid out on the workbench. I roll up my sleeves, set my watch down where I can see it, and begin organizing tools—calipers on the right, files on the left, the fine screwdrivers laid out in a perfect line.

  "We’ll start with the case dimensions," Gerrick says, feeding the forge a little more fuel to push the light brighter. "That way, when the gong’s ready, we can mount it without fighting for space."

  I nod, already running my fingers along the edge of the hardwood, feeling for any imperfections that might distort the resonance. The warmth from the forge spreads through the room, and with it, a quiet focus settles over us both—two craftsmen with a single goal.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, the image of Luna’s eyes in the alley lingers, burning as steady as the forge fire.

  The steady rhythm of work is broken by a sharp rap-rap-rap at the shop door. Both me and Gerrick freeze, mid-motion. The knock comes again—measured, deliberate—followed by a muffled voice.

  "Gerrick. Open up."

  I exchange a quick glance with him. The tone isn’t that of a customer—it’s controlled, with an edge that suggests it’s more of an order than a request. Gerrick wipes his hands on his apron and moves toward the door, muttering under his breath.

  When he opens it, the man standing there is dressed in dark, tailored clothes—not a guard’s uniform, but the cut and polish scream money and authority. A silver pin shaped like a raven sits on his lapel.

  "The Baron wishes to inspect the commission’s progress," the man says without preamble, his eyes already sliding past Gerrick to sweep the shop’s interior. They linger a fraction too long on the workbench where the brass sheets and gong blank gleam in the forge’s light.

  Gerrick clears his throat. "It’s not ready for inspection yet. These things take time—"

  "The Baron insists." The man’s gaze shifts to you now, sharp and assessing. "And you are?"

  I straighten under the man’s scrutiny, keeping your tone even. “Lux,” I say, nothing more, nothing less.

  Gerrick steps in quickly, his voice firm but laced with irritation. “Don’t mind my apprentice. No, be gone with you—I'll have it ready by first dawn.”

  The man’s eyes narrow slightly, as though weighing whether to push further, but Gerrick’s stare doesn’t waver. A low, annoyed sound escapes the visitor’s throat. “Crazy old coot,” he mutters, but he steps back into the street, the raven pin catching the forge light one last time before he disappears into the evening shadows.

  Gerrick shuts the door hard and turns the lock. “Baron’s hounds always sniffing around,” he grumbles, heading back to the forge. “If he’s sending his lapdogs already, that means he’s either nervous… or hiding something.”

  I say nothing, but the thought of those wagons flickers in my mind again—wagons that might lead straight back to Baron Blackwood.

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  Gerrick pauses at the workbench, eyes still on the door even though the man is long gone. His voice drops low, steady but carrying weight.

  "Lux… best you keep clear of the Baron’s men. They’ve got a way of sniffing out things you’d rather keep buried. And if they decide you’re in the way…" He shakes his head, turning back to the tools. "Let’s just say you’d vanish, and no one would ask questions."

  I nod, filing the warning away. It isn’t exactly news—but hearing it spoken aloud drives it deeper.

  The hours blur together after that, swallowed by the steady rhythm of work. The forge crackles and pops in the corner, casting shifting shadows over my tools as me and Gerrick cut, file, and fit each piece with patient precision. Brass gears slide into place, the gong mount is secured exactly where it will carry the deepest tone, and the pendulum rod is polished to a gleaming finish.

  Outside, the moon sinks and the faintest grey of dawn creeps into the shop through the high windows. You’re running on focus alone, every movement deliberate, careful, until at last Gerrick slots the final screw into the case and steps back.

  The clock stands complete—polished wood and gleaming brass, the gong hidden behind its carved panels, ready to sound with a voice no one in Springvale has heard before.

  "Well," Gerrick says with a tired but satisfied grin, "there she is. One of a kind."

  step closer, running my hand along the smooth edge of the clock’s frame, feeling the faint vibration of its steady tick.

  "Let’s test it now," I say, eyes on the brass pendulum. "I’m not handing this over to the Baron without knowing it works exactly as it should."

  Gerrick nods and reaches for the winding key. With a slow, practiced turn, he draws the mechanism to life, the gears engaging with a quiet precision. We both stand there, listening—tick… tock… tick… tock—until the minute hand slides into place.

  Then the hammer falls.

  The chime rolls out deep and resonant, not sharp like the city bells but warm and full, filling the shop like the sound of a great bronze heart beating. It hums in our chests, the tone lingering in the air long after the strike ends.

  Gerrick exhales, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perfect. Better than perfect." He looks at you. "Baron Blackwood won’t know what hit him."

  I help Gerrick secure the clock for transport, wrapping the polished frame in layers of cloth to protect the finish and cushioning the base so the pendulum won’t jar loose. Together, we slide it into a reinforced crate, locking it in place with padded braces that keep it upright.

  Gerrick double-checks every strap, then leans back with a satisfied grunt. “There. She’s ready for the Baron’s eyes—and ears.”

  I give the crate one last glance, the faint echo of the chime still resonating in my mind. “Just make sure you don’t let his men handle it. I’ve got a feeling they wouldn’t be as careful as we’ve been.”

  He smirks tiredly. “Don’t worry. I’ll guard it like my own beating heart.”

  With that, I gather my watch, wipe the last trace of brass dust from your hands, and step out into the pale light of early morning. The streets are quiet, the city still caught between night and day. As I make my way back toward the Lantern’s Rest, I can feel the fatigue settling into my limbs, but my mind… my mind’s still running.

  Somewhere out there, Luna is watching. And somewhere else, the Baron is playing a game im not yet part of—but im getting closer.

  I'm halfway down a narrow lane, the dawn mist curling low over the cobbles, when movement catches my eye—a ripple in the shadows where the mist thins near an archway.

  I slow my steps, scanning the alley’s mouth.

  There.

  A flash of a tail, sleek and dark, slipping behind a stack of crates. Then, just above them, two amber eyes glint in the dim light, fixed squarely on me. She doesn’t move closer, doesn’t vanish outright—just watches, the way a cat might watch a bird from the grass, patient and still.

  My hand lingers on the strap of gerrick's satchel, the urge to call out tempered by the silent game we’ve been playing with her since that first day in the woods.

  A cart rattles past at the far end of the lane, and when I look back—gone. Not even the whisper of footsteps in the mist.Still, the feeling stays with you all the way back to the Lantern’s Rest, like her gaze is still on the back of my neck.

  I push through the Lantern’s Rest door, the faint smell of bread and brewing tea drifting from the kitchen, but I barely notice. The creak of the floorboards under your boots feels distant, muted beneath the lingering image of her—those eyes, steady and unblinking, half-hidden in the mist.

  In my room, I don’t bother lighting the lamp. I just drop gerricks satchel by the bed, toe off my boots, and collapse onto the mattress. The pillow is cool beneath your cheek, but sleep doesn’t come right away.

  Instead, my mind replays that brief moment in the alley. The way she didn’t run immediately this time. The way she simply looked, like she was weighing something about me.

  I let out a slow breath, the sound half a sigh, and finally close your eyes. The steady, imagined glow of amber eyes follows me into sleep.